


The Bad-At-Feelings Kids

by kermo



Category: Dimension 20 (Web Series), Fantasy High
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Platonic Relationships, Romantic Fluff, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 10,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24988390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kermo/pseuds/kermo
Summary: The Bad Kids each realizing that, wow, their best friends sure are kinda hot.EDIT: Kristen is still a lesbian! There are some Canon things that should not be meddled with
Relationships: Adaine Abernant/Fabian Aramais Seacaster, Adaine Abernant/Figueroth Faeth, Adaine Abernant/Kristen Applebees, Adaine Abernant/Riz Gukgak, Fabian Aramais Seacaster/Gorgug Thistlespring, Figueroth Faeth/Gorgug Thistlespring, Gorgug Thistlespring & Kristen Applebees, I may have missed a tag, Kristen Applebees & Fabian Aramais Seacaster, Kristen Applebees & Riz Gukgak, Kristen Applebees/Figueroth Faeth, Riz Gukgak/Fabian Aramais Seacaster, The Bad Kids & The Bad Kids, The Bad Kids/The Bad Kids, This is so confusing
Comments: 55
Kudos: 221





	1. No Hetero, Bro

It was so fucking late.  
  
Riz is used to staying up late; he pulls more all-nighters than not. But the alcohol is making his head swim and his limbs heavy, and it was only pure stubbornness (and slight paranoia) that kept Riz from joining the rest of his friends in the snoring pile on the floor.  
  
That, and Kristen's drunken babbling in his ear.  
  
Riz doesn't remember how the rant started and was honestly barely listening to words coming out of Kristen's mouth. He caught something about how sexuality is fluid and it's dumb that people have double-standards about what makes a person straight and what makes a person gay, but Riz isn't really versed enough in queer theory to keep up with the rest of it.  
  
A thought slowly sludges its way into Riz's brain. "Where's Tracker?" he murmurs sleepily. "Wasn't she supposed to be here like... yesterday?"  
  
Kristen pauses.  
  
"...Nah, she- she's still on that trip with Ragh. She should be back in, like, a week or two, unless something happens."  
  
_Again_ remains unspoken between them.  
  
"Is that why you busted out the vodka?" Riz asks gently. "You worried that something's gonna come up and you'll... have to wait longer?"  
  
There's silence for a solid half minute. Kristen is more leaning on Riz than sitting up at this point, and if Riz weren't leaning on the couch for support they'd definitely be on the floor. Kristen's breath is hot on Riz's ear. He feels sweat beading on his neck.  
  
"It's just so _stupid_ ," Kristen finally says, sounding angry.  
  
"What's so stupid?"  
  
"Like, Gorgug kissed Ragh at prom, which was super gay, don't get me wrong, but that doesn't mean that _Gorgug_ is gay, you know? Like, participating in gay _acts_ doesn't _make_ you gay!"  
  
Riz isn't sure if Kristen was continuing her rant from earlier and ignoring the Tracker thing, or if this was somehow related, but either way he's too tired to ask for clarification. He manages a noncommittal grunt.  
  
"Like, if I kissed you right now, it doesn't make me any less gay! I'm super gay! Kissing you doesn't change my whole sexuality, and people shouldn't expect it to!"  
  
Before Riz could process any of _that_ , there is a firm hand on his cheek and warm, soft lips against his own. All he can see is freckles and red hair, and the faint scent of pizza fills his nostrils. Kristen's mouth moves aggressively and purposefully. Riz nearly chokes when a tongue presses past his teeth to his inner cheek. Her other hand is in his hair, and every nerve feels like an exclamation point.  
  
As suddenly as it happens, it's done. Kristen pulls back and holds Riz's bewildered gaze with bright, determined eyes. She looks, in Riz's opinion, slightly crazy but also perplexingly pretty.  
  
"See!" she says triumphantly. "I'm still gay, and you're still whatever! Nothing changed just cuz we _kissed_."  
  
Riz does not know what Kristen was trying to prove. All he knows is that his very gay best friend kissed him, and judging by the way her eyes are struggling to stay focused on his face, she was probably too drunk to realize what she just did. "Sure," he croaks because what the hell could he say.  
  
Seemingly satisfied with Riz's answer, Kristen pushes herself out of his space and flops to the ground on her side, her head against Fabian's ankle. Heavy snoring follows seconds later.  
  
Riz stays awake for several minutes after the event, staring dazed at the wall in total darkness. Eventually he comes to the solid conclusion of "fuck it," closes his eyes, and lets his consciousness slip away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder that it is CANON that Kristen Applebees has kissed all of the Bad Kids lmao


	2. Sucker Punch

Adaine stands over him, arms crossed and determination set in her face. Fabian admits that she does make an imposing figure once she’s set her mind to something.

Still, he lifts a skeptical eyebrow. “Are you sure? I have been training my whole life for combat, you know. Being strong isn’t all there is to it.”

Adaine huffs impatiently. “That’s exactly why I want to spar, Fabian. I need to fight someone more experienced than me so I can improve.” She glares at him. “Unless _you_ think I’m not up to it.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Fabian amends quickly. “I just wanna remind you, this is Fabian Aramais Seacaster, son of Bill Seacaster you’re speaking to.” He grins toothily and gestures grandly to himself.

Maybe three months ago, Adaine would’ve rolled her eyes, but today she just smirks. Three months since the forest of the Nightmare King and Adaine’s sudden muscular development, since Fabian and Adaine started exercising together. Being workout partners has strengthened their friendship. (It has also cut into his kissing time with Aelwyn, but she doesn’t need to know that.)

“Show me what you got, Seacaster,” Adaine says, and immediately puts up her guard, stance wide and stable, like Fabian taught her.

Fabian finishes tying his shoes and slowly gets up, takes five steps back. “I’ll go easy on you, Abernant,” he drawls, but he isn’t playing when he puts up his guard; this is the girl who killed her dad with one punch, after all.

The fight starts out about how Fabian expects it to. Adaine throws the first punch, Fabian dodges, and takes advantage of her openings. He doesn’t hit hard, and he purposely doesn’t use his legs, but he makes sure she can feel the impact so she knows he isn’t disrespecting her resolve. There are moments when Adaine comes impressively close to landing a hit, but ultimately her fists don’t land. Her eyes blaze with fury and frustration.

Then Fabian gets caught up in the adrenaline, and when one of Adaine’s punches come scarily close to his bad eye, Fabian thoughtlessly lands a hard one on Adaine’s nose.

Adaine yelps and immediately draws back, hands over her face.

“Shit!” Fabian darts forward, hands out and brows pinched with concern. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Adaine rams her head into Fabian’s face, hitting him so hard he takes a full two steps back. Blood gushes from his nostrils to his chin, and he doesn’t even have time to be stunned before Adaine comes at him again.

By the end of the fight, both of them are bruised (although Adaine more so) and have matching bloody noses. Adaine’s body heaves with the effort of focusing through the pain, but her eyes never break contract with Fabian’s gaze, and stubbornness is marked in every inch of her face, the same stubbornness that kept her standing through her horrible parents’ abuse.

Fabian watches the blood drip down Adaine’s chin and is startled by how terrifyingly beautiful she is.

Neither of them put down their guard until Cathilda walks in, clapping her hands cheerfully for their attention. “Alright, Master Seacaster, Miss Abernant! I do believe that is quite enough!” She brings each of them towels and ice packs.

“You played dirty,” Fabian can’t help saying, delicately dabbing away the blood. The scar over the eye is sexy, the ladies love the scars, but a bruised nose is less attractive. He needs to preserve his youthful beauty.

Adaine smirks mischievously in a way that is scarily reminiscent of Fig. “Your fault for letting your guard down.” She drags her hand through her hair and wrinkles her nose at the sweat and blood on her fingers. “Yuck. I’m going to take a shower. Meet you back in your room for tutoring?”

Fabian makes a face. “Ugh, I guess.”

Adaine laughs and turns to walk back to the Manor. Fabian tries not to stare too hard at the way her yoga pants clings to her legs.

Fabian’s distracted the whole time that Adaine helps him with his math homework. He can’t help noticing that even with the bandage over her nose, Adaine is so very pretty. She’s wearing a different tank top and it shows off the definition in her arms. Her eyes are focused and her voice is confident.

A voice that sounds like the Hangman whispers at the back of his mind that maybe Fabian’s been kissing the wrong sister. He quickly shuts that thought down and turns his mind to numbers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where is the art of buff Adaine?? Her strength is literally equal to Fabian's now


	3. Dorks Can't Dance

Fabian Aramais Seacaster is the kind of person that Riz never thought that he could ever be friends with.

Fabian is the complete opposite of Riz: charismatic, sporty, rich, and beautiful. (Like, unfairly gorgeous? Isn’t the universal experience of high schoolers to be ugly and insecure?) Riz would never tell him because Cassandra knows that the boy does not need any ego boosting, but he had to admit to himself that Fabian was probably (definitely) one of the most attractive people at Aguefort Adventuring Academy.

But then Riz found out that Fabian is also a teenager with his own insecurities and struggles, and now they’re best friends, against all odds. It warmed Riz’s insides when Fig told him about how frantic Fabian had been about finding him when he went missing at the start of the Nightmare King quest. It crushed Riz when he saw how lost Fabian became at his crushing defeat against Captain James Witclaw.

And then Riz had very conflicting feelings about Fabian’s newfound passion for high-elf style dancing.

He is happy that Fabian has something else he loves that makes him feel more secure about his identity. He is happy that Fabian is discovering a part of his heritage that he was previously out of touch with.

But “happy for his friend” doesn’t really describe how Riz feels when he watches Fabian dance, quiet and passionate in a way that he isn’t with just a sword. Riz doesn’t think “happy” is the word for the fluttering in his stomach when he watches Fabian swing his muscular limbs and sway his hips in time to a music that only Fabian can hear. Riz doesn’t know how to describe the tightness in his throat when he observes Fabian’s graceful strength pronounced in every bit of his body, his tank top skin-tight over his defined torso.

So Riz doesn’t think about the word he’s looking for and instead falls back on the tried-and-true teenage method of merciless teasing and desperately hopes that his gay panic isn’t super obvious.

“You know, I can really see you doing the whole dancing-for-200-years thing,” Riz says one night when he catches Fabian dancing in the Seacaster Manor’s garden. The other Bad Kids were piled on Fabian’s bedroom floor, dead asleep. Maybe the quietest sleepover they’ve ever had.

Fabian rolls his eyes but doesn’t stop twirling the elven bedsheet. “You just don’t have the mind to appreciate the art.”

Riz snorts. “That is the most high-elf thing I’ve ever heard you say.” He climbs onto one of the outdoor chaises and leisurely settles to watch, sipping coffee from a mug that Cathilda brought him. (That woman was a blessing to Spyre. Fabian really ought to appreciate her more.)

The night is unusually bright. From Riz’s perspective, the moon rests a little above Fabian’s head and lights him from behind, silhouetting him like a spotlight. Fabian’s hair glows white like a saint’s halo. His eyes are closed and his lips just slightly parted as he moves gracefully. It’s a fantastic view. Riz almost forgets to drink his coffee.

Finally Fabian stops dancing and turns to Riz, frowning slightly. “Why aren’t you sleeping with the others? Were you working on another case?”

Riz woke up the second that Fabian got up to leave the room. He tried and failed to go back to sleep. He watched Fabian from the window until Cathilda came in with coffee, gently suggesting that he go down as well.

“Sure, yeah, there’s a case,” Riz says.

Fabian raises a brow and puts a hand on his hip. “Seriously? What part of ‘summer vacation’ do you not understand?”

“No rest for the wicked.”

“You know what you need, the Ball?” Fabian says, holding the sheet like a silken torch at Riz. “You need to dance.”

“Absolutely not,” Riz immediately replies. “I am drinking coffee.” He goes to take another sip to make his point and realizes that he has, in fact, run out of coffee.

This doesn’t escape Fabian’s notice. He grins deviously and extends his sheet, stretching his arms in a way that Riz recognizes from his dance with the fire elemental.

“No, no, no, don’t you dare!” Riz yelps, nearly throwing down the mug in his attempt to jump out of the way.

Fabian throws the sheet like a whip, trapping Riz in its admittedly very soft and comfortable hold, and pulls him close. “Come on, the Ball,” Fabian teases. He has no idea what this proximity is doing to Riz’s heart. “Dance with me. You’ve got to let go of all that detective stress somehow.”

Riz wiggles weakly against his 80,000 thread-count bonds. “I don’t dance. I can’t dance. Fabian, I really can’t dance.”

Fabian completely ignores Riz’s pleas and twirls him out of the sheet, leaving him dizzy. “I’m not judging you, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He bumps his hip against Riz’s shoulder. “Just do your own thing.”

Fabian is smiling toothily down at him, and Riz has never been so weak in his life. “Fine,” he huffs, and tries to calm his nerves. He begins to kind of just awkwardly spin around. He has no idea what to do and feels stupidly self-conscious.

He startles when a hand grasps his wrist, and suddenly Fabian is pulling him towards him, and Riz has no choice but to follow. He tries his best to keep up as Fabian guides him in a dance without music, the sheet swirling around them all the while. He eventually gets into the rhythm and begins to follow Fabian more easily, taking bolder steps and grasping Fabian’s hand firmly in his own. He closes his eyes and entrusts himself to Fabian’s lead.

Eventually they come to a slow stop. Riz’s heart is pounding in his chest, and he feels a little lightheaded. He slowly opens his eyes to find Fabian bent down and close, his eyes seeing right into his soul. For a second, time stops.

Riz gathers the nerve to lunge forward and press his lips to Fabian’s for the briefest touch. He retreats before Fabian can react and darts for the Manor.

Right before he reaches the door, a sheet whips around him and pulls him back. He’s swaddled like a baby and is helpless to resist when Fabian lifts him in his arms.

Fabian’s face is flushed to the tips of his ears. His eyes are wide with surprise, like he still can’t believe that Riz just kissed him. His mouth curves into the widest grin Riz has ever seen on Fabian’s face.

“You want an encore?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I knew that Riz and Fabian were gonna be the most shipped couple in the fandom the moment Lou continued to refer to Riz as The Ball


	4. Fit Together

It starts when Kristen brings a 1000-piece puzzle to a sleepover.

“It’ll be easy!” Kristen insists, eyes sparkling with hope. “With Riz and Adaine and the rest of us, it can’t take more than, like, three hours.” The rest of the Bad Kids naively agree.

Five hours later, most of the group is down. Fabian quits pretty early on (surprising no one), and Fig and Kristen give up soon after. Adaine gets a text from Aelwyn and leaves, something about sisterly bonding time.

In the end, it’s Riz, the one who doesn’t sleep, and Gorgug, the one who doesn’t give up, who are left to finish what the Bad Kids started.

Riz is surprised by how much he enjoys the puzzle. Maybe it’s because of the dry spell he’s having with cases. Riz likes piecing things together, and there’s something calming about knowing he has all he needs to make the big picture.

Whenever Riz glances over at Gorgug, his eyes are focused on the puzzle, absorbed entirely in the task. Logistically, the jigsaw pieces are way too small for half-orc hands, but Gorgug is nothing if not patient and persistent, and he has years of experience tinkering with small things. It’s a good look on him, Riz thinks, to be so comfortable and calm.

“It’s nice to not have to think about it,” Gorgug says softly as he puts the last piece in its place.

Riz agrees, and it’s the start of a tradition.

They take turns buying puzzles and put them together in Gorgug’s room (after dinner because the Thistlesprings always insist he eat with them). Between the two of them (and without distraction from the other Bad Kids), they easily get through a puzzle a night.

It’s on a puzzle night that Riz makes a crucial mistake.

Completing the puzzle itself is uneventful. Gorgug gently places the last piece in the middle, and that’s that. They’re done.

For a moment, Riz and Gorgug simply stare at their creation.

“It’s so much harder when a lot of the pieces are the same color,” Riz mutters, stretching his arms above his head. His back makes a satisfying crack.

Gorgug yawns. “That took really long.” He looks at Riz. “What time is it?”

Riz squints with bleary eyes at his watch. “Holy shit, it’s almost five.”

“Wow, we should get some sleep.”

“Eh,” Riz says, waving his hand dismissively. “You can go to bed, I’ll stay up. The sun’s almost out anyway.”

He pulls out his crystal to incognito search for cold cases when Gorgug snatches it out of his hands. “Hey!”

Gorgug holds the crystal above his head, frowning down at Riz. “It’s not good for your eyes to look at screens in the dark,” he scolds. “And any sleep is better than no sleep.”

Riz glares incredulously at him. “Gorgug, I pull all-nighters all the time.” He starts to climb up Gorgug’s back to reach his phone, but Gorgug grabs Riz by the scruff like a stubborn puppy and holds him at arm’s length. “Gorgug!”

“I’m going to sleep, and so are you,” Gorgug says firmly. He puts Riz’s crystal on top of a wardrobe out of Riz’s reach and trudges toward his bed.

“What- Wait- Are we-” Riz stammers, slightly panicking.

Gorgug lays down on his side and firmly tucks Riz into his arms like a teddy bear. “We’re going to sleep now,” he mumbles into Riz’s hair.

Riz means to protest and fight a lot harder, but now that he’s on a soft surface surrounded by Gorgug’s gentle scent and warmth, he’s having a hard time keeping his eyes open. When he scoots his body, it’s not to wiggle out of Gorgug’s grip but to press closer. The rhythm in the rise and fall of Gorgug’s chest is soothing, and Riz finds that he actually likes being held.

“Fine,” he grumbles, already halfway to falling asleep. “You win.”

Gorgug snores deeply in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The sheer size difference between Riz and Gorgug is astoundingly impractical for romance reasons


	5. Getting Those Kisses In

Fabian slams his crystal down on his desk, pulls a pillow over his face, and lets out a despairing groan.

“What’s up?” asks Fig, looking up from her guitar. The song she was trying to write wasn’t going anywhere, and this looks way more interesting.

Fabian lifts the pillow just enough to talk. “Sam asked Aelwyn out, and she said yes,” he grumbles.

Fig snickers unsympathetically. “Aw, poor baby. No more kisses?”

Fabian throws his pillow at Fig, who just laughs harder, and sits up to send the full force of his glare at her. “You have NO right,” he huffs. “Aren’t you banned from that hospital now?”

“Yowch, alright, somebody’s touchy.” Fig turns back to her guitar, hoping her embarrassed blush doesn’t show against her tiefling skin. “What’s the big deal though? Just find someone else to make out with.”

Fabian’s weirdly quiet at that, and Fig turns back to him. He is pointedly facing away from Fig. There’s a pinkish flush in his cheeks. He opens and closes his mouth several times but no coherent words come out, and his fingers are fidgeting with his blankets. (It’s kind of cute.)

A thought strikes Fig. “You do know other girls, right?” Fig asks gently.

“Of course I do!” Fabian immediately snaps defensively, the flush spreading to his ears. “It’s just that… I hang out with you guys all the time. I don’t really know anyone else well enough to… you know…”

Fig suddenly remembers that Fabian’s first kiss was a half-crazy girl who snorted dragon spice off his chest before they even knew each other’s names, and as far as Fig knows, took the lead in all their make out sessions.

Fabian looks surprised when she nods seriously, puts her guitar down, and moves to settle next to him on the bed. “Okay, then do you wanna practice?”

“Practice?”

Fig shrugs as casually as she can. “Practice flirting. You can pretend I’m a girl you’re interested in?”

She tries to keep her face neutral while Fabian’s internal conflict plays out on his face. He shakes his head. “No, that sounds like a bad teen movie. It won’t help, it’ll just be awkward.”

Fig braces herself and commits. “Okay, well why don’t you keep it simple and just get your kisses in with someone you already know?” she suggests.

Fabian stares disbelievingly. “You mean like Adaine or Kristen? What- Kristen has a girlfriend and Adaine would knock me on my ass for even asking!”

“...And what about the literal famous rockstar sitting on your bed?”

It takes so long for Fabian to even move that Fig has enough time to panic and wonder if she’s irreparably damaged their friendship. “Or, I guess, you could just meet someone new,” she backpedals, moving to grab her guitar and get the fuck out. “You don’t have to-”

“Wait!” Fabian grabs her arm. “Wait, are you- are you serious? Like actually?” He sounds shocked but also… hopeful?

All of Fig’s panic turns to anger and she seriously considers bonking him over the head with her guitar. She literally invaded this boy’s bedroom by herself every day for the past week and gave no reason to hang around other than “inspiration” for her songs. What in the nine hells did he THINK that meant?

Fig channels her rage into recklessness. She swings her leg over Fabian to sit in his lap, grabs his face, and fiercely plants her lips on his.

Fabian responds enthusiastically. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t gotten his kisses in a while, but every touch from Fig gets a desperate throaty sound in reply. His hands grip her hips and pull her so close that she can feel every gasping breath he takes.

Fig’s lips are burning. Fabian’s tongue dips into her mouth and it feels like fire. His hair is soft between her fingers and his chest is firm against hers and Fig wrenches off her jacket without pulling away, drowning in every second of contact.

By the time Fig finally breaks the kiss, they are fully horizontal on the bed. Fabian’s hands are still on her hips but dangerously close to slipping under her tank top. Fig feels lightheaded and manically euphoric. She can hear her heart pounding in her ears.

She takes the time to watch Fabian. At first he looks blissfully dazed, but his eyes eventually focus, and he returns her gaze with uncomfortable clarity. Fig bites her lip, suddenly nervous.

“...So, uh, was this… planned?” Fabian asks, glancing somewhat involuntarily at her mouth.

Fig hesitates. “Kind of?”

She can SEE the realization finally dawn in his eyes. “Wait, your songs. Were you- Have you been coming over to write songs about ME?”

There’s no need to reply; Fig’s cheeks flood with heat. Fabian’s eyes go wide and his mouth curves into a big, shit-eating grin. Fig hates it, except his eyes are sparkling and he’s looking at her like he’s found treasure and who is she kidding, she feels the opposite of hate about it.

“You-” he starts, already unbearably smug.

Fig kisses the words out of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a chaotic rockstar and a pirate dancer is conceptually a bomb-ass pairing


	6. Words Are Louder In Quiet Spaces

Riz loves his loud friends. He loves when Fabian declares his greatness as the son of Bill Seacaster and also his own man. He loves when Fig blasts the chords on her bass guitar and shatters every window in the area. He loves when Kristen launches into a long-winded and unfocused speech that might get somewhere if she keeps going.

Riz loves them, he really does, but they absolutely cannot stay focused on anything, not even when they were after the Nightmare King, and sometimes Riz wants to strangle them.

And it’s not like he can just isolate himself because, lately, being alone puts Riz on edge. It’s a battle between a thing that drives him crazy and a thing that makes him paranoid as hell and Riz feels like he’s barely keeping it together.

Gorgug is good for quiet moments when he’s tinkering away on projects. Riz appreciates his company at the right times. But Riz finds clarity when he gets a second opinion on his ideas, and Gorgug isn’t a great conversationalist at the best of times, and especially not when his mind is occupied with something else. The big guy also needs sleep and is rarely available at the unholy hours when Riz is still up and pushing himself to his limits to crack the case.

In the end, it’s Adaine who understands him. Their focus modes are wonderfully compatible: Adaine doesn’t need sleep, Riz doesn’t sleep. Adaine studies books to come up with new spells, Riz digs through newspapers and articles for unsolved cases. Adaine occasionally asks for input, Riz sometimes bounces off his ideas. They work perfectly together without working together at all.

They make good work partners, Riz thinks.

One particular late night makes Riz think that maybe they’re good for each other outside of work, too.

That day is particularly frustrating. They’re in Riz’s office. Adaine sits on a pile of blankets and pillows she brought from home and Riz stands in front of a cork board covered in a design intelligible to only him. He’s normally good at staying level-headed when things aren’t adding up, but this time his impatience is boiling over because he could swear he has everything he needs but something just isn’t clicking. From the desk behind him, he hears Adaine muttering angrily under her breath and flipping through books a little more aggressively than necessary.

Riz sees a gentle blue light illuminate the board and turns to the window. Early dawn breaks over the horizon.

Riz sighs and rubs his eyes. “Fuck.” He says it quietly, but in the silent room it almost echoes.

“ ‘Fuck’ is right.” Adaine slams a book shut and falls onto her back. “A fucking waste of time.”

Normally Riz would say something about getting stuck being part of the process, but he can’t say it with any bit of sincerity right now. He trudges over and flops down at Adaine’s side. They stare at the ceiling together, watching the light gradually change from blue to golden.

“...You seemed kind of upset earlier,” Riz says without any particular feeling. A simple observation.

Adaine takes a while to answer. “I... kind of got into a fight with Aelwyn.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. She just- She  _ says _ things sometimes. And I know it’s not her fault, she’s still unlearning what our parents taught her, but it hurt.”

“Did you say something back?” Riz is too well-acquainted with Adaine’s temper to think she wouldn’t retaliate.

“...Yeah,” she nearly whispers. Riz doesn’t look at her, but she sounds on the verge of tears.

He struggles to find the right words. “It’s not your fault,” he tries.

Adaine laughs through a sob. “I was awful, Riz. God, we really are sisters. I pretend like I’m better but I’m just as mean as she is. Maybe even worse.” She chokes on the last word and completely breaks down crying.

Riz is kind of glad he’s barely awake because otherwise he’d feel the full force of his panic. He scours through his muddled thoughts for something comforting or encouraging or insightful but finds nothing. He doesn’t have the emotional intelligence or social experience to handle this.

Adaine’s pinky brushes against Riz’s as her shoulders shake. Riz tentatively lifts his hand and puts it over hers. She immediately clings to his hand like a lifeline, and Riz doesn’t complain about the pain.

Eventually her breaths begin to even out, and Riz risks a glance over. She wipes the tears away with her free hand and turns to face him. They aren’t exactly eye-to-eye; she has to crane her neck slightly down. But Riz can clearly see the pink in her cheeks and nose and brows and eyes, and suddenly all the words come tumbling out.

“You’re not mean, Adaine,” he says with the truest conviction he’s ever had. “You might not be gentle, but that doesn’t mean you’re not kind. You’re thinking about the people you care about  _ all the time _ . You think I don’t know why you’re always coming up with new spells? Maybe you don’t say it with words, but any idiot can see that you love us. You’re kind. You’re smart. You’re amazing.”

Adaine’s eyes well up. Against her blue irises, it’s like looking into the endless sea. Riz realizes with startling clarity that even like this, fresh out of good hard cry, Adaine’s the prettiest girl he’s ever seen.

“Thanks,” she whispers. He sees the words on her lips more than he hears them.

Riz feels kind of dizzy. A distant part of him thinks it’s the combined effect of an all-nighter and a sudden emotional high. A more distant part thinks there might be something else. “You’re welcome.”

He flinches when Adaine’s hand moves in his. She intertwines their fingers, turns on her side and drapes an arm across Riz’s torso. He feels her mouth move against his forehead. His heart skips a beat.

“I’m going to trance,” she says against his hair. “You should get some sleep.”

Who was he to defy the Oracle?

Riz takes a few deep breaths, closes his eyes, and dozes off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just gotta write riz being soft in the late hours. the nerds need their soft time


	7. Maybe Sappy Love Songs

Gorgug’s having the worst case of writer’s block.

It’s not really a problem because he’s not the main songwriter for the Cig Figs, and they’re on tour right now so they don’t really have to worry about coming out with new songs for a while. He could just call up the Bad Kids; his friends are always a great source of inspiration. He could even just wake up Fig from the bunk above him to help him get his feelings into words.

Except that he can’t, because he’s writing a love song.

Gorgug admittedly doesn’t have much experience with romance, but he just feels like it’s supposed to be a love song. Gorgug’s gut feelings led him through a lot: kissing Ragh to get him to help against Kalvaxus, finding his long-lost dad, getting through the Nightmare King. He’s not about to doubt his instincts now.

So he’s writing a love song. And every time he puts pen to paper, he finds himself writing about spotlights shining off of dark hair and sharp horns. In between the mindless scribbles, there’s a picture of a girl playing the sickest riff on her guitar. All the words he can string together are about confident chaos and awkwardly sincere words and cool fishnet stockings and confusing winks and fire in her eyes, fire in her smile-

Gorgug slams the notebook shut, a little harder than he means to.

He hears the bunk above him shift, and a sleepy-eyed Fig peeks over the edge, hair dangling loose over her horns. He immediately feels bad for waking her up, but also she looks cute. Really cute.

“You doing alright, Gorgug?” Fig mumbles, concern clear even in her unfocused gaze. She glances at the notebook in his hands.

“Yeah,” Gorgug answers, probably a little too fast. He all but throws the notebook under the bed. “Yeah, all good. Sorry for waking you up.”

“...You sure?”

Gorgug doesn’t have a high enough charisma to lie convincingly, and Fig definitely isn’t convinced when he tells her that he’s fine and she should go back to sleep.

Fig drops down from her bunk. “Scoot over,” she commands, and Gorgug helplessly obeys. 

The bottom bunk was adjusted to hold a lanky half-orc, and ONLY a lanky half-orc. Even with Gorgug’s best efforts to push into the wall as far as possible, more than half of Fig is lying on top of him, arm and leg tossed over his body. She’s small but warm and, despite the horns, soft. He can smell her hair (surprisingly flowery) and he has to remind himself to breathe.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t wanna, but I can tell something’s up, dude,” she says into his chest. He feels her lips move.

Gorgug swallows. “I was just trying to write a song.”

“Yeah? What’s it about?” One of her hands rests on his side. Her fingers absently trace his ribs, and it shouldn’t be as distracting as it is.

“It’s, uh, it’s supposed to be a, uh, a love song?”

Fig’s fingers stop. “...A love song?”

“Yeah.” Gorgug really hopes she doesn’t ask anything else.

“...About Zelda?”

Gorgug jerks up to stare down at Fig, shocked and confused and shocked and really, really confused. “What?” he says, too loud when Fig is literally right here, basically sitting in his lap.

Fig looks as confused and surprised as he feels. “Zelda, right? You guys have been texting a lot so I thought…” she trails off.

There’s too many feelings for Gorgug to process right now. It’s really late, they just had a performance, he was writing a song that needs to be a love song and is only just realizing that maybe the song is also about Fig. Fig’s staring helplessly at him, fingers curled in his shirt, and Gorgug can’t say everything he wants to say but he needs to say something so he does.

“No,” he says quietly, staring right into Fig’s eyes. “No, it’s not about Zelda.”

They sit there and stare at each other in the dark. It’s only the two of them in the whole world and the only sounds are their breaths and Gorgug’s pounding heart. Fig stares at him, doesn’t ask the question, and Gorgug hopes that she can see the answer in his eyes.

He slowly lays back down, gently holds Fig in his arms to keep her against him. The angle is too awkward to maintain eye contact, but Gorgug can feel her unsteady heartbeat.

“We should sleep,” Gorgug whispers.

Fig nods and settles, and eventually her breaths even out and Gorgug knows she’s asleep. He looks into the dark for a while before he closes his eyes and dreams about love songs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apparently i ship the bad kids with sleeping lololol. also i was totally projecting onto gorgug with the writer's block


	8. Hands Over My Heart

Adaine has the prettiest hands that Kristen has ever seen.

It’s not something that she intentionally tries to notice, but sometimes when they’re studying together Kristen’s brain wanders off like it always does and instead of reading her notes, she finds herself watching Adaine go through hers.

Adaine has really expressive hands, Kristen discovers. When she’s taking her time, absorbing the words and all their complex meanings on a page, her thumb rubs slow circles on the paper. When she comes to a mental hiccup and her thoughts and a book’s words won’t align to make meaning, her fingers tap impatiently on the table. Sometimes (only sometimes because Kristen’s sure that her parents must have shamed it out of her) Adaine’s fingers move to rest on her rosy bottom lip, and Kristen couldn’t look away if her life depended on it.

And Kristen watches and thinks about anxious hands gripping a forbidden book until the knuckles go white, and thinks about frightened hands dealing out vengeance with a weaponized ladle, and thinks about confident hands with fingers splayed to cast vicious spells, and thinks about relieved hands gently squeezing impossibly adorable frogs, and thinks about determined hands curled into a fist to rain down fury-

And impatient fingers on outstretched hands snapping in front of her face.

“Kristen? Hello? Are you stuck on something?”

She has a soft accent that Kristen can’t place, something elven? Her hair is light and soft, a gentle curl around her face. Her eyes are an endless blue, sharp even in her confusion. It’s all so Adaine in a way that Kristen noticed subconsciously before but suddenly realizes all at once and it’s frying all her brain circuits.

Kristen looks at Adaine, and Adaine is the prettiest girl she’s ever seen.

“I think...” Kristen starts, thoughts moving at a snail’s pace, “...I’m gay.”

Adaine gives her the Look that the Bad Kids give her when she states the obvious, and okay LISTEN Adaine, Kristen is trying to SAY something, it’ll get where it needs to go if you just LISTEN.

“I think,” Kristen tries again, but Adaine’s looking back down at her books, and oh yeah, they have a test like next period, she should really get onto that.

Except that Kristen doesn’t because Adaine is too pretty to not look at and Kristen’s sure that she’s absolutely going to bomb that test but that’s not a priority right now. She has bigger, gayer fish to fry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly teenage me would probably be super into Adaine but only because i just think she's Neat and Relatable because internalized homophobia is a hell of a drug


	9. Red Skirts, Red Hair, Red Skies

It’s Kristen’s idea to go to the beach, Fig’s idea to go at the asscrack of dawn.

They don’t tell the others. They make excuses: Fabian needs his beauty sleep, Riz and Adaine don’t like sand, Gorgug would probably fall asleep anyway. What they don’t say with their words comes out in faint blushes and shy glances and barely hidden smiles.

They manage to pester Jawbone into taking them. He hates getting up early, but Jawbone’s more perceptive than he lets on. He sees something a little more secret and desperate in their eyes than typical teenage mischief, and in the end, he’s a big softie who can’t say no to his kids.

They try to be sneaky, but neither Kristen nor Fig are even remotely subtle, so of course Tracker catches them on the way out. A glance between them, a smirk, and she waves them off.

In the car, Fig buries her burning face in Kristen’s hair. The sound of her bright laughter drowns out the lingering embarrassment.

Elmville is a couple hours out from the sea. Jawbone turns on the radio and Kristen tries to sing along at first, but it’s still dark out and she’s not used to staying up. Fig quietly takes out a notebook and scribbles notes about freckles and cute snores.

The beach is gloriously empty. Fig pokes Kristen awake to help Jawbone get the stuff out of the car. They can still see the stars but the blue light of pre-dawn is creeping over the horizon. Jawbone sets up the parasol and beach towel and promptly takes a much-needed nap. Fig and Kristen immediately venture into the shallows.

The water is frigid. The girls playfully push at each other until Kristen accidentally shoves Fig too hard, and Fig doesn’t go down without taking someone down with her. They shriek loudly with both delight and shock at the cold, and it’s a wonder that Jawbone doesn’t wake up (though Fig could swear she sees the corner of his mouth curl).

Red bikini with a skirt. Rainbow tie-dye. Matching swinging ponytails. Oranges and reds streaking across the sky. Fig turns to Kristen just as the true face of the sun comes over the ocean and loses her breath.

Kristen’s hair, still damp from falling in earlier, glows like a red-orange halo in the light. Her eyes and smile shine with the sun and her freckles are new constellations, earthly reflections of the ones hidden in the sunrise sky. The waterdrops run down her skin like meteorites leaving streaks on their way, and Fig’s mouth feels dry.

She’s staring like an awestruck idiot, and it takes a while for her to realize that Kristen’s no longer smiling but looking right back at her. It startles Fig to see her own feelings mirrored in another face, helplessly open and yearning.

Fig is drawn to Kristen like gravity draws her to the ground. She doesn’t realize she’s moving until her hand is already on Kristen’s cheek and there’s a hand on her waist and in her hair. And lips on her lips and it tastes like sea salt and feels like sunrise, the warmth rising in reverse from her lips to her heart to her hands.

When they finally pull apart, Kristen’s flushed and grinning broadly, eyes shining like there’s a light inside her. Fig grins back, and as she goes to kiss her again, it strikes her that she doesn't need to be a cleric to know what worship feels like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's hard to write lesbians because i get too many gay feels


	10. Lose Love, Learn Love

Kristen knocks on the Thistlespring Tree door. She doesn’t know what time it is. She left her phone at the Manor.

It’s Wilma who opens the door, Digby close behind her, clutching a wrench in oil-stained hands. They take one look at her and neither of them ask. Wilma lightly touches her knee and leads her up the stairs to Gorgug’s room.

She knocks and softly calls his name. A few minutes of shuffling later, Gorgug opens the door. Kristen can’t keep her eyes on his face and instead notes all the unimportant things. He’s hunched over but more from habit than lack of space; the Thistlesprings did some renovating after the fire. His hair is mussed and his hoodie twisted oddly around his waist, evidence of sleep. One large, gentle hand rests on the door and the other twitches hesitantly at his side.

Digby arrives with an armful of blankets. Wilma fusses and arranges them into a plush pile on the floor. Kristen vaguely registers that she should help but can’t find the will to lift her arms. She can feel Gorgug’s worried gaze on her cheek. She stares at the floor.

The gnomes take their leave after Wilma leaves a glass of water on the nightstand and kisses Gorgug goodnight. For the second time that night, probably, because Gorgug’s parents love him and he loves them and it must be so nice and so comforting to be able to easily love and be loved and Kristen’s spiraling and stretching and breaking and she could almost hate them, almost almost.

She flops onto the pile of blankets with her back turned to Gorgug. Silence, and then heavy steps to the bed and the rustling of a body settling into sheets.

Kristen glances up at the glass of water, reflecting moonlight from the window. She smells the clean blankets and thinks about the smell of a bed that will never be hers again. She thinks about soft hands turned hard and cold and thinks about comforting words that will never be spoken for her again and thinks about inconvenient truth and glass-house love and surrounded in the evidence of borrowed affection in a home that isn’t hers, it’s too much. She bursts into body-wracking sobs.

Kristen doesn’t care about how loud she’s crying, and even if she did, there’s nothing she could do about it. She’s bawling like a baby and doesn’t fight when giant hands grab her in her blanket pile and lift her to higher ground. Strong arms pull her close to a warm body and Kristen screams and wails and weeps until she has no more air or tears.

Gorgug pats her back and rubs her shoulders and hums into her hair. Kristen’s a child again, taking desperate gulps from a well for a thirst that she fears can never be quenched because if her own parents’ hearts weren’t deep enough to supply her, how could anyone else?

“Is there anything that would make your parents stop loving you?” she asks, and her tone is bitter and poisonous with grief. She hates herself for asking.

Kind, wonderful Gorgug sees the landmine and doesn’t touch it. “I love you,” he says instead, and Kristen feels a new breath in her lungs. “Fig and Adaine and Riz and Fabian and Tracker, we all love you.”

“What if it’s not enough?” Kristen whispers. “Where can I go if I fuck up?”

“You’ll always be one of us. You’ll always have a home with us.”

Kristen knows more than anyone about empty promises and false security. But Gorgug’s words are sincere to the core, and for all her doubts about faith, she knows she can believe in her friends. Maybe that won’t be enough forever, but it’s everything she needs right now.

Kristen takes deep breaths in, slow breaths out until it doesn’t shake. She tucks her face into Gorgug’s chest and closes her eyes, drifts off to sleep with one last murmur of

“Thanks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the only thing i could ever maybe hold against ally beardsley is how easy they made it for kristen to just. leave


	11. Regret Is For Losers

Fig does not regret any of her decisions.

She does her best to at least fix her hair, but she’s outside and it’s night and she doesn’t have a mirror, and her makeup is probably fucked as well. She gives up and lights a cigarette, which takes a few tries because her coordination is off, but she gets it. The sting in her throat feels like a triumph.

“Fig,” a voice says sternly, and she nearly jumps out of her skin.

“Holy Helio,” she yelps, and looks down at a disgruntled goblin standing with his arms crossed. He takes his time looking her up and down before giving her a disapproving glare, which she meets with a winning smile. “Heya, Rizzo.”

Riz sighs and uncrosses his arms. “You look like a mess,” he says, grabbing her wrist and leading her down the street.

“A  _ hot _ mess,” Fig replies gleefully, wiggling her arm around so that she’s holding Riz’s hand. He glances at her but doesn’t comment.

Riz is wearing a badly wrinkled button up, his tie dangles loose around his neck, and his hat is gone. His hair looks soft and perfect and Fig wants to stick her face in it. It’s too dark to see his freckles except for when they pass by the occasional streetlight, but even then she has to squint. It’s a little disappointing. Riz has cute freckles.

For a while, Riz doesn’t say anything. Fig doesn’t say anything. The walk is quiet. Too quiet, after the party with music so loud it blew Fig’s thoughts right out of her head.

“You have baby hands,” she blurts out.

Riz whips around, mortally offended. “I do  _ not _ .”

Fig giggles. “You so  _ do _ .”

“I have perfectly average-teenager-sized hands,” Riz insists. He holds his hands flat against Fig’s and stretches his fingers as far as they’ll go to match hers. Fig melts inside.

“Baby hands, baby hands,” she sings, interlocking their fingers and swinging their arms.

“I should call Sandralynn,” he grumbles.

“No!” Fig gasps, over-the-top horrified and dramatic and also half-afraid that he’ll actually do it. She wraps Riz in an awkward hug, made more awkward because she won’t let go of his hand. “I was wrong, you don’t have baby hands, I love youuu.”

Riz snorts, almost a laugh, and Fig counts it as a win. “Okay, okay, I’m not gonna call anyone,” he reassures her, patting the closest part of her he can reach, which is her elbow.

“You should call someone with a ride next time,” he suggests once they get untangled and start walking again. “I mean, I get that I live close by, but Fabian has the Hangman. And Gorgug, he’s got a whole van. Or Ragh, actually, didn’t he take you to the party in the first place?”

Fig waves his advice away like a bad smell. “Psh, nah. You got me out of the hospital thing, remember? And the thing with the Nightmare King forest! You’re like, my hero. You can keep me safe.”

And whoops, maybe that was too much because Riz is looking at her strangely now. Luckily the Strongtower (Luxury) Apartments come into view, and she startles Riz by shooting forward with a wild whoop.

Riz leads Fig to his office. There’s newspapers and pictures all over the floor, and he winces a little when Fig steps on some (she tries not to but her limbs aren’t listening to her) and takes her to the desk. There’s a pile of fabrics under it. Fig recognizes them: the constellations blanket from Adaine, the clumsily knitted rainbow one from Kristen, Gorgug’s hoodie, Fabian’s varsity jacket.

She collapses onto the pile, nearly hits her head on the desk. The exhaustion immediately hits her and she’s asleep before Riz is done adjusting the blankets to cover her.

The next morning, Fig regrets all of her decisions.

Her head is throbbing and her mouth feels gross. It takes a second for her to recognize where she is, and then the memories return with unfortunate clarity and Fig wants to scream.

But she’s in Riz’s office, and it looks like Riz isn’t around, and if she screams then Riz  _ will _ come around to check on her, so she needs to stay calm and figure out what to do first.

The blinds are drawn over the windows so the light only slips in around the edges, just enough for Fig to see. Riz probably did that on purpose, Fig realizes. It makes her heart skip and ache at the same time. She pulls out her crystal and turns on the front-facing camera and  _ yikes _ . It’s even worse than she thought. She has raccoon eyes, her hair is lumpy and tangled in her horns, and her lipstick is somehow smeared all the way to her ear.

Riz saw her like this. And he’ll see her like this, again, in the bright light of day because Fig can’t go into the streets like this, she has to clean up. Fig again swallows the urge to scream.

Fig knocks tentatively, and the door opens before she’s emotionally prepared. They spend an awkward moment staring at each other. Riz has changed into a cleanly ironed button up and tie, still no hat, still perfect hair (Fig finds it more enviable than endearing at the moment).

“Are you feeling alright?” Riz asks quietly.

Fig nods, then winces. “Yeah, just hungover.”

“...Do you remember anything?”

She wills herself not to blush. “Yeah.”

Riz slowly smiles. It’s cute and sweet until it becomes a smirk.

“Don’t,” Fig warns him, but it’s too late.

“Your ‘hero,’ huh?” he says smugly, and Fig wants to deck him in his stupid adorable face.

“I need to wash up,” she responds flatly, and pushes past him to the bathroom.

There’s a mug of coffee waiting for Fig when she finishes washing up. She sits on the couch and sips slowly, relishing the sweet and bitter and warmth. It’s just perfect, actually, and Fig wonders if it’s a coincidence.

“You gonna call a ride?” Riz asks, settling in beside her.

Fig sinks into the couch. “Urgh,” she groans. “I think I need to lie down for a minute. My head still hurts.”

“You can take my bed,” he offers.

“Thanks,” Fig accepts, probably too quickly but she’s past the point of shame.

She has her hand on the doorknob when Riz jumps up in a panic and yells, “Wait!”

Which is exactly the wrong thing to say because Fig, hungover or not, is above all things a rebellious teenager, and rebellious teenagers take special delight in doing the exact opposite of what they’re told.

So Fig opens the door, looks around the room, and freezes.

Fig expected to find something mildly shameful, like a teddy bear, or scandalous, like some porn tabs accidentally left open. Instead, Fig sees her own face look up at her from a merch blanket and suddenly remembers yeah, she gave that to Riz as a joke, and it isn’t with the others’ gifts in his office. It’s on his bed.

Heart hammering in her chest, Fig slowly turns around.

Riz’s face is buried in his hands, skin flushed to the tips of his ears. “It’s not what it looks like,” he says weakly.

He sounds like he wants to die and it’s the most adorable thing Fig’s ever seen and also wickedly satisfying after she was so painfully obvious last night. She wants to kiss him right on the end of his freckled green nose. So she bends down and does just that.

Riz stares up at her in wide-eyed shock. “What,” he squeaks.

“You might be smart, but you’re so dumb,” Fig explains fondly. “And you’re also super cute. Let’s do this when I’m not hungover, okay?”

Riz can only nod.

With that sorted out, Fig goes to take a nap and leaves Riz stunned in the hallway.

Fig firmly does not regret any of her decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think my feelings about married couple Emily and Murph spilled over to their Fantasy High characters. whoops.


	12. Awkward, Righteous Fury

Adaine rubs her bruised knuckles and pointedly does not look at the hunched half-orc seated next to her.

Gilear, vice principal and likely the only adult in the Aguefort Adventuring Academy who remotely cares about fights between students, stumbles through a half-lecture, half-apology. The student Adaine decked in the face was dismissed a while ago, and Adaine still hears her heartbeat in her ears. She focuses on the rhythm of its beats and completely tunes Gilear out.

They’re dismissed a few minutes later with one counseling session with Jawbone as consequence. It’s hardly a punishment, but Adaine knows she’s going to have to look at her adopted dad and see sadness and concern on his face, and it only adds to her anger.

On their way to the lockers, every little thing gets on Adaine’s nerves. The throbbing in her fingers, the chipping paint on the wall, the squeak of her own shoes on the floor, and most of all (most unfairly, Adaine knows), the heavy thud of size 19 sneakers trailing behind her.

Adaine opens her locker and roughly pulls her things out. She can feel Gorgug’s eyes on her, and she can see out of the corner of her eye his great jaws opening and closing soundlessly, and the tenuous thread of her temper snaps.

“Just say it, Gorgug,” Adaine hisses, and immediately regrets it when Gorgug flinches like a kicked puppy.

She inhales, exhales.

“Sorry,” she says, more calmly. “What did you want to say?”

He doesn’t respond right away, just fiddles with the strings on his hoodie. Then suddenly he straightens a little and looks Adaine in the eye, oddly determined. “Are you mad at me?”

All the heat in Adaine’s head blows away. She feels wholly apologetic and ashamed. “No, Gorgug, I’m not mad at you. I’m, well, more mad at myself than anyone else right now.”

As she says it, Adaine realizes the full weight of what she did. Oh god, she just punched someone in the face. She broke their nose. She didn’t even try to talk to them first. Is this who she is now? A violent maniac? A raging psycho?

She doesn’t realize she stopped breathing until Gorgug calls her name in concern. Then she’s choking on air, and then she’s crying, and that makes her angry all over again.

“I’m so sorry, this is so stupid,” Adaine gasps, wiping her face furiously. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

“Adaine,” Gorgug says softly, and it makes her feel worse. He’s so gentle and kind and good, and he’s perfectly capable of handling people who say nasty things. He didn’t need her to step in at all.

“I’m sorry, you can take care of yourself just fine. I completely overstepped my boundaries and I-”

Gorgug firmly grips her shoulders. “ _ Adaine _ ,” he says. “I wanted to say thanks.”

Adaine falters. “What?”

“Thank you for standing up for me,” he explains. He smiles hesitantly. “It was pretty badass of you.”

The choked laugh that bursts out of Adaine’s mouth is a surprise to herself. It makes Gorgug chuckle with her, and Adaine feels her heart swelling.

“You’re a good friend, Adaine,” Gorgug says sincerely. “I’m  _ really _ glad you’re my friend.”

Adaine smiles at Gorgug. Gorgug smiles at Adaine. Nobody says anything. Adaine is hyper aware of Gorgug’s warm hands on her shoulders and hopes he doesn’t move. Unfortunately, he must see her glance because Gorgug blushes and takes his hands back to fidget nervously with his hoodie again.

“Well,” Adaine says, voice nearly cracking. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Gorgug nods. And nods again. He doesn’t stop nodding, actually. “Yeah, yeah, definitely, see you tomorrow.”

Adaine slings her backpack over her shoulders and starts slowly down the hall, feeling like she’s missing something she can’t put her finger on. The closer she gets to the door the more she feels like she’s going the wrong way, so she stops and turns.

“Gor-” she starts to call, except she didn’t expect Gorgug to be standing  _ right there _ and the startled look on Gorgug’s face traps the sound in her throat.

And now they’re standing in the middle of the hall, five feet away from the doors. Awkwardly glancing but not  _ looking _ at each other. Adaine feels sweat on her back and this is  _ ridiculous _ , she should just  _ say _ something, but then she finally looks up and there it is again, that odd determination, so she waits. Gorgug tries to find his words and Adaine tries to calm her wildly beating heart.

“Adaine,” Gorgug begins slowly, and her heart skips, “do you… would you like a ride home?”

There’s nothing new about this. Gorgug gives the Bad Kids rides home all the time. This isn’t even the first time it’ll be just the two of them.

But somehow it feels like a bit  _ more _ when Adaine looks into those big (and hopeful? but that could just be her) eyes and says, “Yes, Gorgug, I’d like that.”


	13. Kiss the Homies Good Night

Never let it be said that Fabian Aramais Seacaster, son of legendary pirate demon Captain Bill Seacaster, ever threw a single party that wasn’t the talk of the town.

This night was particularly wild. By the time light started to shine on the horizon, Seacaster Manor was in dire need of a clean-up. The pool was filled with shrimp (where all the shrimp came from, he had no idea), the garage walls were riddled with several holes and barely holding the room up, and the beer pong tables were smashed beyond recognition. Fabian, ever the gracious host, made sure everyone had a ride home and didn’t drop his pearly-white smile until he saw the last stumbling drunk off his grounds.

Coming off of his social high, Fabian crashes onto the beer-stained couch in the garage. The drunkenness truly hits him then, and Fabian finds himself struggling to keep his eyes open. He couldn’t sleep out here; this is where  _ Gilear _ used to sleep, and even if he thought better of the man nowadays, his mother’s lover remained a level of pathetic that Fabian aspired to keep far, far away from. However, his limbs won’t obey him, and Fabian barely manages to peel off his sweat-drenched (and very intentionally form-fitting) shirt before flopping back down.

Right as Fabian feels his consciousness drifting off, he is startled by the gentle shake of a large hand on his shoulder. How did he not hear thumping footsteps? He must be well and truly drunk.

“Fabian?” Gorgug says, stifling a yawn. Fabian vaguely remembers Gorgug yelling he was going to bed after both he and Riz attempted to dive into the shrimp pool. Now he smells more like soap than fish.

“Hellooooo, Gorgug,” Fabian greets him. He tries to nod but his head is too heavy. “The party went off the raaaaails! There’ll be stories for  _ years _ .”

Gorgug nods. “There sure will.” A pause. “Are, uh, are you okay? Do you- Do you need help getting to bed?”

Fabian harrumphs. “Does  _ this _ look like someone who needs help getting to bed?” He attempts to stand up but only gets to sitting before he’s hit with a wave of dizziness that sends him careening face-first into the throw pillows.

“Uh, yes?”

Fabian grumbles dissent and turns his head to pout at Gorgug, squinting at him in the dim light. Was Gorgug always so tall and broad-shouldered?

Gorgug rubs the back of his neck. “I can carry you to bed, if you like? I carried the others back already.”

Fabian’s first instinct is to say no. The offer itself is an insult. He’s a hero! Heroes don’t get  _ carried _ . Except for Riz, but that’s different because he’s just so small, perfectly backpack-sized and how could you  _ not _ carry him. Riz is The Ball. Fabian is not The Ball. He’s fought battles with more levels of exhaustion than this.

Except there isn’t the adrenaline of battle to drive him now, and when he thinks about all the stairs he has to walk, he wants to sink into the couch. And it  _ is _ only Gorgug; no one else would see it.

Eventually it comes down to two points of pride: Is it worse to be carried, or to sleep in the garage like Gilear?

Fabian sighs dramatically and rolls onto his back, crossing his arms. “Fine. You can carry me back to bed.”

His heart skips a beat as Gorgug leans close. Cool arms slide carefully under his back and knees and lift him with effortless strength. It feels like flying, and Fabian quickly loses track of where he is.

Fabian can’t remember the last time he was carried like this. Did his father ever do this for him, as a child? His mother certainly never did, not with all her high elf haughtiness. Perhaps Cathilda, when he was a toddler. Fabian suddenly feels very fragile, like glass that could shatter if someone pressed upon it.

Then Gorgug shifts him closer as he starts up the stairs and Fabian’s brain can only handle the sensory input of a broad, warm chest and strong, steady arms. Fabian knows the work that goes into a well-built body; he perfected his, after all. If he tries to tuck his face into Gorgug’s shoulder, it’s only because he wants to admire his muscles properly.

“Almost there,” Gorgug whispers into his hair, and Fabian shivers, the rest of him abruptly cold against the heat in his neck and ears.

They reach the bed, and when Gorgug leans down to lay Fabian down, Fabian’s shoulders tense. The tension becomes nearly full-blown panic when Gorgug begins to pull away. His hands dart out to clutch Gorgug’s shirt.

Fabian doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this. It’s not like he’s never slept by himself, but there’s something particularly vulnerable about tonight that makes him feel small and alone.

“Can- Can you-” Fabian stutters. He doesn’t know what he’s about to say but his face is already flush with embarrassment. “Kiss me goodnight?” he finishes, barely audible. It’s only because Gorgug’s still as close as he is that he hears him.

Gorgug’s confused expression is lit by the soft light of dawn through the window. “Kiss goodnight? Like, a mom kiss?”

Fabian’s fists tighten in his shirt as he nods minutely.

Gorgug hesitates. “I don’t know, man,” he says quietly. “You’re really drunk.”

Fabian slowly lifts a trembling hand to tap a spot just above his brow. “Please,” he whispers, more breath than words.

There’s a long pause. Fabian’s hands are shaking. “Okay,” Gorgug finally assents.

The half-orc leans down cautiously, like he’s approaching a frightened animal. Seconds feel like centuries. Fabian is barely breathing. Soft, warm lips meet his skin, and his own lips part in a soft gasp of  _ relief _ . The tension uncoils from his body as some unknown, desperate need is filled by the gentlest giant he knows. He uncurls his fists from Gorgug’s shirt and closes his eyes, already falling into the deepest rest of his life.

Gorgug pulls the blanket over his body. “Good night,” he says softly as he closes the door behind him.

Fabian doesn’t hear him. He is already asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fabian has a complicated relationship with his parents that definitely feeds into his insecurity about himself


End file.
